


A Favor, From Eroica With Love

by OldDVS



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Dorian is really very efficient, Klaus is off being Iron Klaus, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldDVS/pseuds/OldDVS
Summary: Dorian solves a nasty little problem for his lover's ex-fiance.  And he's his most charming while he does it, too!





	A Favor, From Eroica With Love

**Author's Note:**

> I think it was written about 2009. Not sure if it was posted anywhere--if so, I have no idea what name it was under, and also I have made some changes and it is not quite how it was.

A Favor, From Eroica With Love

 

She was a beautiful woman in a fine frothy gown which trailed artfully to the floor, and she made a pretty picture slumped against the arm of the chair, one hand up to her eyes, the other, in her lap, clutching a crumpled bit of paper. If she had been a painting, he would have stolen her on the spot. There was so much feeling in the line of her back, the curve of her neck, so much tight anguish in her lashes against her cheek. 

But she wasn't a painting, she was a human being, and her pain drew him across the room and into the small nook which partly hid the chair from view. He went to one knee, automatically reaching forward and taking her hand in his.

"What might I do to help?" he asked her in a low voice. She looked startled to be accosted in this way by a stranger, and her blue eyes searched his, looking deep into his, which were even bluer. 

"You? You are Dorian. Red Gloria." Her lips pressed together after the words left them, and she swallowed hard. 

"And I am at your service," he said respectfully, his words still low, as if to keep anyone from overhearing.

She sent him a weak smile. "Do you know who I am?" she asked. She didn't wait for the answer but introduced herself. "I am Ermengarde Rothstein." 

She watched his eyes go wide, but his response was to bend over her hand again, his lips brushing the soft skin. "Miss Rothstein," he said fiercely, "I am yours to command!"

"Thank you," she said, in a tight voice which suggested she was under the sway of some harsh emotion. "Do stand up," she said in her lightly accented English. "Is...is there a place less...public?" she asked, looking around as she unwound herself from the chair and stood. He rose up with incredible grace and nodded.

"This way," he said, and tucking her arm into his, he drew her out of the room and down a short hall. He opened a door, leaned his head in, said, "It's empty, how lucky," and pulled her inside, closing the door firmly behind them. It was a small parlor type room, done up with antiques and fine carpets, and yet managing to look very impersonal and cold, like a waiting room in a fine mansion owned by a corporation. Which it was, of course. 

"What were they thinking? That paint is too dark, don't you think?" Dorian said as he led her to the corner, where two chairs upholstered in black and maroon flanked a tall table holding a vase of flowers. There was a lamp arching over the table, but he did not turn it on. He pulled one chair forward and eased her into it and then took the other. He did not nag her to speak, but waited with well-bred patience for her to gather her thoughts.

"How is...he? Klaus," she asked after a few moments of silence

"He's well," Dorian replied, slinging his arm across the back of his chair so that he sat at an angle which allowed him to give her his entire attention. "He's off to Alexandria at the moment."

"Ah. I had heard he was shot. A few months ago." Her elbow was resting on the arm of her chair and her hand was at her head again. He noticed she still kept a tight grip on the paper she had been holding when he first saw her.

"He's had worse. He now sports a most dashing scar on his...cheek...." He flashed a naughty smile as one long finger tapped his own cheek, to show which cheek he meant. It only coaxed a tiny lift of her lips. His face became more serious, and he said, "As he is not here, let me perform any service that you might ask of him."

She studied him for a moment. "Why should I trust the man who stole away my affianced?"

Dorian straightened his spine and, "I did not!" He met her eyes with a scandalized, eyes- wide expression that radiated his sincerity. "From the very moment I heard of the engagement, I respected it. Well, first I threw a total fit and screamed the castle down, but after that I managed to control myself. I didn't send him single note or present. I made sure I was never any place he was likely to turn up. I wouldn't even stay on the same country! I made sure even my accountant wasn't on the same continent. I turned down several jobs for NATO, and even avoided his associates."

He paused and then leaned a bit forward. "I must confess I did have you investigated. Imagine how disappointed I was to find you were a perfectly lovely woman, inside and out. You were well-educated, good-mannered, charming, and not in need of funds. You were medium tall, with curves. You worked for several charity organizations, not just donating to them but actual work, and you were the sponsor of an art gallery for artists from third world countries. It's a wonder I didn't develop a positive hate for you. You were perfect for him. For anyone, actually."

A small, stifled laugh escaped her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I didn't even know about you."

"Really, why would he tell you anything about an irritating, flamingly gay associate who had spent ten years making his life hell by proclaiming his undying affection and showing up when he was least wanted? I interfered with his work, you must know, and came up with some very excessive ways to gain his attention. He really did hate me."

"Perhaps it was only that he was quite skilled at lying to himself," she murmured. 

"Perhaps. I believe that everyone does it some extent. Lie to themselves, I mean." He shook his head again, causing a cascade of yellow curls. "But I did not intend to steal your man. There was a mole in his department who was trying to kill him. He needed to hide in a place no one would think of looking and came to me. Everything else...it was an accident!"

She was studying his face. What did she see? The blond curls were at their most exuberant today, but he was wearing what was, for him, a conservative suit of tan with a silk shirt in shades of cream and white, and gold accessories. He was at this reception for a charity auction only because he had heard his oldest sister had donated some items for the auction, and his curiosity had pricked him into coming to see precisely what she had donated. Nothing of interest, it had turned out, only some china of noted manufacture but no beauty. Not family antiques or any of the things which had vanished from the castle about the time his father had died. 

The reception had been a bore. The hostess had not invited any gay men, or anyone of interest at all, and the tone had been almost grim from the moment he swept in the door. Too many people there because they felt obligated to be there, and their even less excited spouses were polite people going through the motions. He had talked to everyone even remotely worth speaking to in the first twenty minutes and had been circling the room, glass in hand, to see if anyone new had arrived while simultaneously planning his escape, when he saw a most interesting tableau in a nook behind a screen of overwhelming unattractive potted plants. A man and a woman, both tense with emotion. He stopped to study it.

Perhaps the man thought the plants prevented anyone from seeing into the little nook, but if so, he was entirely wrong. The two people could be clearly observed. Dorian's attention was first drawn to the ugly expression on the man's face, a sort of gloating triumph that rather reminded him of something that one might find on the face of a panto villain. The face of the woman with him was stiff, a pale mask that hid everything she was feeling. And yet he had know instantly that she was mortified, outraged, and in a great deal of pain, emotional and perhaps physical. It was in the way she held her shoulders, and the tightness of her jaw, and the hand which had curled into a fist. 

On Dorian's wrist was a gold bauble that contained a camera. He had not intended to make use of the camera, but experience had always shown that chance favored a man prepared. Besides, it looked good on his arm. On impulse he had snapped a picture. In the back of his mind was the thought that when he tried once more to paint -- an impulse that came upon him every few years, despite the repeated evidence that he was not quite skilled enough to make a success of it -- he might try to capture the emotions he saw in these two figures. 

The nasty man had uttered a few more words, turned, and left the woman slumped in her chair. A shudder moved across her shoulders. Yet, her face remained smooth, her hands steady in her lap. Dorian had been drawn across the room almost without realizing he had moved. 

Here, away from everyone but him, she still maintained that calm exterior.

He took a deep breath. "If you do not feel you can trust me, tell me what man or woman you do trust. I will take you to them, or fetch them, at once."

For a long moment, she studied his face. Then she said, in a soft voice, "It is quite strange, but I do believe I trust you. Klaus must trust you, and despite the difficulty between us, I have always trusted him. Besides, this is...I could only go to Klaus with this. If I could bear to say the words at all. I'm afraid this is something...entirely mortifying and embarrassing." She cheeks were staining themselves pink even as she spoke. Then she added, "And I'm angry. So very angry. I don't believe I have ever been this angry in my entire life." 

He could see that anger in the back of her eyes now. But then she took a deep breath and it vanished again.

"I have just discovered that I am the victim of several crimes. The...extent of this is horrifying. I keep wondering who is involved, which of my friends or employees or acquaintances might be implicated. To think that anyone would do this to another human being is beyond...beyond...."

"Do you need a hug?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "No. No, I would fall apart. I feel so disturbed. I'm not the type of woman who falls apart, I've never experienced this feeling of being out of control of my life."

He nodded. 

"It's horrible," she said again, and then said, "Did you see him? The man who accosted me in that corner? He was a stranger to me and now when I try to remember what he looks like, I can't remember. I can't remember." 

In Dorian's opinion, shock was setting in and he contemplated going to get help, but then took another look and decided he could best serve if he got to the bottom of this now. He made an encouraging sound. She turned her head towards him. It seemed to help her focus.

"He called me by name. He was very pleasant at first. He asked to speak to me privately and led me a few steps away. Then he said my family owed his family a debt, for some time, a debt of which he had already collected the first installment. Now for the next payment, he told me, I must collect money in unmarked bills before Friday next. Or...."

"Or?"

"Or he makes sure the pictures he has are seen by everyone. My family, friends, business acquaintances." She drew in a deep breath, struggling to keep her composure.

"Pictures?" Dorian asked, with hesitation. 

"He showed me them. So many of them, in horrid color and quite, quite...clear. It's me! Only I never did that! Never did I ever do such things!" 

"These pictures. Explicit? And of you?" Dorian frowned. "Perhaps they are computer manipulations?" It was an area he had investigated a few years ago, when looking into the authenticity of some modern art.

"I am sure they are of me, and now that I know they exist, I have some explanations for things which had greatly puzzled me. In a way, I am glad to know this. It means I am not going crazy, and I did wonder!"

Dorian made an encouraging do-go-on sound.

"Three weeks ago I was ill. I was feeling quite bad even before I rose out of bed that morning and I went back to bed about mid-morning, which I never do! My head was dizzy and I fought my stomach. You know, how it feels as if you are going to be sick but then you don't, but one suspects one should not have fought it, because the illness comes again and then again, and you just wish it to be over?"

It wasn't even pleasant to hear about it. He nodded, though, to encourage her.

"When I woke I felt so very sore and so oddly aching, and I found I had been in bed for an entire day! A very bad flu, they said. But while I did hurt all over, as one does when one has been so sick, I also felt pain in places I should not have, for flu! But I was not thinking clearly, and spent so much time sleeping over the next several days, that when my brain was working again, all that had happened was blurry in my memory...." Her voice trailed away. 

"The pictures?" he suggested.

"They are of me. In my own bed. Some of the pictures were just me. Without clothing. Others featured...men. And devices. And...and...."

"You need not say it." Dorian handed over his white handkerchief because at last the slow tears had escaped. When she went to take it, both remembered the scrap of paper in her hand. She thrust it at him and then took the square of cloth in both hands to dabbed at first one eye and then the other.

Slowly, Dorian un-wadded the paper and smoothed it out flat. It was a xerox of a photo, in which a nude man, his head out of the picture, was using his hand to guide a large penis into the slack mouth of a woman. Oddly enough, it did not seem to be his own penis. The eyes of the woman were closed, but there was no doubt of the identity of the woman. 

"I...I suppose I must go to the police," she said, clearly reluctant. 

"One cannot give in to blackmail, of course," Dorian said as he folded the paper in half, and then in half again. "They only come back for more. But no, you need not go to the police. If you will permit, I will take care of this," Dorian said firmly. "Might I have this paper for reference?" He was sliding it way in his pocket even as he asked. She might have protested, but he went on speaking. "I will destroy it as soon as I can. And I will be most discreet, of course, but I shall need to know a great deal of information about your home, the security, who might have the keys, any servants you might employ. Just everything, darling, and I'll even ask about bits that won't even seem to be connected to this affair. But not here. Did you come in your own car or a taxi? Taxi? Splendid. I shall give you a ride home, but first, we will go to a quiet place where we can have a quiet drink and talk."

"Go off with you, alone? Wouldn't that rather stupid of me?" she asked with more spirit than he expected.

"Nonsense, we're practically family." He stood up and offered her his arm again. "Now, you must tell me if you have any specific ideas about proper retribution in these matters. An eye for an eye, or something more subtle? For I do intend to apprehend these nasty men -- and women, should any be involved. I feel quite strongly that they must suffer a bit, and that they must, in the end, be encouraged to be forever silent about the matter. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds rather severe, and that's...I'm sorry, but the thought of anyone being killed is...is...." She swallowed, hard.

Dorian drew her close against him. "Who said anything about murder? Not my style, darling, anyone can tell you so. This can be taken care of without anything as crude as that. Let me just put my mind to it, I'll have something whipped up in a trice."

"I suppose you will have to...that Klaus...." She looked upset, now, losing her calm and shuddering in the circle of his arm.

"Heavens, we will have this taken care of before Klaus even returns. He doesn't have to know about the details if you don't want him to, but I do have to tell him at least a few words. But never fear, we can nip this malicious bit of mischief in the bud. I have a vast network of resources, dear, and gay boys have traditionally known all about blackmail and how to deal with those who attempt to take advantage of us. We'll only go to Klaus if we run into a problem which requires a tank, I promise. Now, let's talk about our revenge, shall we? I have some suggestions to make, some of them absolutely naughty." 

He escorted her from the room and the building without bothering with the courtesy of saying good-bye to their host and hostess. The car which smoothly slid to a stop just as they reached the kerb was driven by a pretty young man in a chauffeur's cap, who hopped out and opened the door for them with enviable youthful energy and a bit of theatrical flair. 

Dorian, after begging her pardon prettily, used the car phone for most of the trip, giving orders in a clipped voice at odds with his foppish appearance and manner. They were pulling up before a charming villa as he finally dropped the pink phone into its box and he helped her out of the car with a flourish before tucking her hand into the crook of his arm again. "We're renting the place for the season," he explained when the door opened at their approach. "It was done by Donache, you know, one of his early projects. The bathrooms are incredible, you must be sure to have a peek," he said with a wink.

"We'll have drinks in the garden," he added, and addressed the man at the door with a, "Bonham! Just the man I need to see. We have a little task or two for you." He drew him aside for a word or two, and the man, who did not quite look like a butler, hurried away and Dorian then led the way through the house to a charming garden. It was full night, but the indirect, hidden lights, as well as some well placed fairy lights, gave the space a magical air. They were soon seated on comfortable chairs under a canopy of heavy, colorful silk. A young man brought a table, another settled a drinks tray, and then they both vanished into the house.

The scent of flowers drifted up. "Would you like wine, or perhaps some water? I have some water imported from a spring in Scotland which you might like. Or, look, he's left us a treasure." He held the bottle up and lifted his brow inquiringly.

"The wine, please," she said, and took the glass from him with great care. Her cautious sip betrayed that her hand was trembling. 

He talked lightly of English gossip, of people she did not know and scandals that did not involve blackmail and terror. Eventually he began to ask his questions about her household and her friends. Hours passed. It was quite late when they got around to discussing revenge. 

"I've made a study of revenge," he said, from where he was lounging, feet stretched out, on the padded bench. The fountain caused pretty patterns of light to play across his hair. "That old saying about revenge as a dish served cold or whatever. Lovely theory, but people forget, you know, and it isn't as satisfying. There was a man who cheated me when I was just a boy, and I never really got a proper revenge upon him because he spent so many years thinking he had gotten away with it! Perhaps even enjoying having robbed a child. I've since decided that revenge needs to be served a little fresher, if you know what I mean."

She blinked owlishly at him, tired enough to fall asleep in her seat, but striving to be polite. She didn't really want to go home, after all. To be alone and able to do nothing but think about it all, over and over. She took another sip of her wine.

The butler hurried over, said a few words in Dorian's ear, and hurried away. Dorian now wore a satisfied look on his face. When the man was gone, he said happily, "Oh, there's fresh revenge and then here is ours, plucked off the vine at the first blush of morning and served up for breakfast!"

She shook herself to alertness and straightened in her chair. "What do you mean?"

"Well!" He, too, sat up and then he pulled his chair closer and lowered his voice dramatically. "My friends have been so busy! It turns out that yours is not the first case of blackmail this man has staged. I say man, but it is actually a small gang. This man, his sister, her husband, and her son. Not from any of the crime families, not at all a professional group. Some upstart from Nice, which is quite handy, as we needn't worry about offending any local friends. And he's stupid, because he didn't check for connections before he made you a victim, and he did not check for the job before this, either. People of some influence are already angry at this little group. The police would love to get their hands on him.

"We've identified his people, raided three houses and located his stash of negatives, and his cameras, hidden in a barn he rented under a different name," he ticked them off on his fingers gleefully. "Really quite sloppy, to the point I even had someone check to see if we were being set up. One can never be too careful. But apparently he's just, as I said, not smart enough, and not an experienced criminal. We've established a modus operandi, too. I believe you'll find the sister bears a remarkable resemblance to the lady you hired while your housekeeper was ill, months ago. 

“We've decided to destroy the material that had anything to do with you, tonight, since we have enough evidence concerning other victims that will allow the authorities to act. Bonham says a few pertinent things he located will be delivered within the hour. Then we're going to make sure that the police have all they need to investigate." No need to mention the additional evidence pointing to another series of crimes, planted on these amateurs as a favor to a certain friend of his in Italy. Kill two birds with one stone, and make sure that the sweet little family group went away for long enough to thoroughly get the message. And they would never know whom to blame for it. Eroica's team were very, very professional, after all. 

"Now, I'm afraid we've acted precipitously, but each of these people now bears a rather painful tattoo which will be distinctly un-beneficial to them behind bars and each also is going to find it difficult to find any legal help of any quality. Let me assure you, there's nothing quite like having a bad lawyer to make an interaction with the legal system just unbearable. 

"Oh yes, and it appears they were thieves as well. Everything in the apartment of the sister that looks as if it might have been yours once has been collected up. You'll claim what is yours and then we'll donate the rest to charity. Umm. Let's see. Oh, and my accountant took all their beer. I've no idea why. He seems to have just gotten carried away."

Dorian looked at her with concern. "Do you think it's enough? Being caught is really what these people fear the most. The embarrassment of it all is more painful than you might think, and you didn't want killing. But I'm sure there's more we can do, if you like. But we'd have to hurry, there's a police raid planned for this morning.” 

"Are you sure? That you have the right people? I should hate to...."

"Quite sure, Darling! I am afraid, however, that one of my friends did see all the pictures of you. He had to check to see if they were what I described, of course. But he's ever so discreet and gay as spring! I assure you he never even got a twinge of lustful interest in the process and he doesn't know you, so you mustn't worry. When he brings the pictures we can have Bonham build a fire in the sitting room and we can burn it all!"

"Burn it?"

"Terribly therapeutic, you'll see. Although, I do think you might like find someone to talk to. Not necessarily a professional. This sort of trouble is bothersome to the mind and it crops up years later, just when you least expect it."

"Oh. Yes. Perhaps." She yawned. 

Dorian stood up. "Would you like to stay here, tonight? Well, what is left of it. It might be safer, and we have oodles of room. Say yes! We'll have some strawberries and melon for breakfast out here. It will be lovely."

"And revenge?" she asked, sleepily "For breakfast?"

"The very freshest revenge," he promised her, as he pulled her to her feet. The revenge was bland compared to some of the scenarios he had envisioned, but he didn't think she would have approved of those, and this way was at least swift. He couldn't think of anyone one else who could have accomplished it in one night, and he was feeling quite proud of himself. He was so glad he could deliver this. It had been so very easy, and it hadn't even taken all of his men. His only regret was that he hadn't been able to take part personally. 

It had him thinking, too, that perhaps there was a business in revenge and thwarting blackmail. He had all these professional thieves, after all, and they had cut back on their regular work since he and Klaus had gotten together. Might as well keep everyone busy. 

Himself included. He had always felt a teeny tiny bit of guilt for stealing Klaus away from her, even before he had found out she was a lovely person and deserved some happiness after all this fuss. It would really be better if she were also happily involved with someone, and he did know some very nice straight men. Well, one or two, perhaps. Yes, she should be happy with someone, someone who was not Klaus. In case Klaus ever regretted his choice. Not that Dorian ever planned on giving Klaus the opportunity to regret anything. But she really was a charming woman, an excellent conversationalist and of course, a potential asset. He'd just put his mind to it....


End file.
